One Last Adventure
by Queen of Tortall
Summary: "To live would be an awfully big adventure..." -Peter Pan /WendyxPeter/


**One Last Adventure**

* * *

_"To live would be an awfully big adventure..." -Peter Pan_

* * *

She's drowning.

The water swirls around her, honey thick, and she tries in vain to free her arms, her legs, her brain, but to no avail. A weight pulls her down, right to the bottom of the ocean, she thinks. The part of her that is still capable of cognizant thought, that is. Salt water fills her eyes, her mouth, her nose, burning down her throat as she gasps it in. _A lovely way to die,_ she thinks, _here, all alone... At least it's beautiful. _Because it is- she opens her eyes to see that light still shines above her, that the sun penetrates the crystalline water with its golden rays. Although Wendy cannot feel it, warmth courses through her all the same. _Peace, _she thinks. _Peace._ Strange, that she's sinking slowly but surely to her underwater grave, but she's long given up fighting. She doesn't think about never being able to grow up, or never seeing her mother and father again, or even Nana or Peter or her brothers. No, it's rather beautiful here, underwater, once she got over the whole not-being-able-to-breathe part. If this is the price to pay...

Just as she closes her eyes, blue eyes shine brightly in her memory, bright orbs of mischief. "Come fly away with me, Wendy," a voice seems to whisper. "Wendy...Wendy...Wendy..."

Gasping, she sits up, and coughs up what seems like the entire ocean. "Peter?" she manages to choke out, before succumbing to another coughing fit.

That flashing smile almost blinds her, and she wonders how she could've consented to go peacefully when there are people like Peter in the world.

"Right here, Wendy. Are you okay?"

She coughs some more. "I will be. What happened? Where are my brothers? Are they safe?"

Peter shrugs, apparently unfazed by her barrage of questions. "They're fine. I rescued them and the Lost Boys from Hook, you know."

He pretends like it's not a big deal, but Wendy knows better. He wants affirmation that he's done a good job, that she's grateful to him and proud of him. She can't help but smile at his childishness.

"Why, Peter," she says, smiling as brightly as she can while blinking the salt water from her eyes, "you're the best!"

She doesn't expect a reaction from this unshakable boy, but he blushes, and she's happily surprised. He instinctively moves closer, his warmth filling the quiet air, the space that seemed so immense only a few moments ago. She can't breathe, can't speak; she can only widen her eyes in shock? Anticipation? She isn't sure, but then his lips are on hers and everything else falls away.

Some small part of her wonders how he knows to do this, if he knows what he's doing, but it's quickly silenced as she loses herself, and she's falling, falling, ever so sweetly...

"Peter..." she whispers, as he pulls away. "What was that?"

"A kiss, Wendy," he smirks, all that alluring confidence and recklessness returned to him. "You showed me, remember?"

And she did remember- a chaste, quick kiss, a mere brushing of lips, on the night she decided to run away with him. On the night her life changed forever.

"That was _nothing_ like the kiss I gave you, Peter," she replied.

"Ah, well, I improvised."

And that was that.

* * *

Four days later, she finds herself unwillingly aboard Hook's pirate ship again, and decides that there is nothing so infinitesimally infuriating as this bitter coward of a man who insists on fighting a teenage boy. "I hope he gets eaten by that crocodile," she mutters. "He deserves it."

Her hatred for him blossoms when he finally visits her, his twitchy little mustache creeping like a black centipede on his upper lip. _Disgusting_, she thinks. At least when she's busy hating him and poking fun at him, she has no room to be afraid. She tries not to think about the fact that this man had gleefully made her walk the plank four short days ago.

"Well, Wendy darling..." he drawls. "So nice to meet you again."

She wants nothing more than to spit in his face, but finds her fear rushing back in. "I hate you," she hisses instead, half-hoping he wouldn't hear her and punish her.

He heard. "Oh, you hate me, don't you? Good. I would be surprised if you didn't hate someone who sent you to your death a few days ago."

"Peter saved me."

Something black and ugly flashes in his eyes, but passes before she can truly place it. _Hatred, maybe_, she thinks, _but it goes so much deeper_. "Oh, Peter saved you, did he?" Hook smirks, the black centipede doing aerobics on his lip. "He won't be here to save you this time. I've taken care of him."

"No!" Wendy shouts, knowing how silly she must sound, but needing reassurance nonetheless (no matter if it came from herself). "No..." It's not that she's refusing to believe him (though she is quite good at self-denial), it's more that she knows Peter, and she knows Hook, and Hook is likely to be full of empty talk. _Peter is sure to be safe, somewhere_, she thinks. Hopes.

"Oh yes, darling. He won't be coming for you anytime soon. Or anytime at all. Heh."

She does spit at him now, but his eyes only flash with something darker and more dangerous than before. "I'd be careful, if I were you, darling. My good mood is the only thing keeping you alive right now."

She knows a threat when she hears one, and bows her head quietly. "Good girl," Hook tells her, and strides out of the room.

She wants to rip that stupid black centipede of a mustache of his stupid head, which would preferably be dismembered from his body and thrown overboard for the crocodile to consume. Wendy placates herself with this thought until he comes back into the room.

* * *

Apparently, he just can't stay away. She's not sure whether or not that's a good sign. For a brief moment, she wonders if he's lonely. A grown man, in this vibrant world, with only pirates for company; no wife, no children, no love...She pushes the thought away quickly. No pity allowed for the man whose life goal is killing Peter.

Hook jumps right to the point. "I'm using you as bait for Peter."

"I thought you said Peter was taken care of?" is her quiet reply- she's taking care not to provoke Hook to anger.

His cheeks flame red with anger. "The boy seems to have...disappeared..." Coughing, Hook proceeds to mutter a string of obscenities under his breath, each more outrageous than the last.

"Why are you telling me?" she asks.

"No reason. I thought we'd have a little chat. Did you know you parents miss you terribly? Do you even miss them, Wendy? Do you miss your dear mother and father?"

"Of course I do!" she says indignantly.

"What does your mother say to you every night before bed, Wendy?"

"She says, 'Sweet dreams, my sweet...' and... and..." Wendy frowns. Her mother's bedtime ritual had been in place for as long as she can remember. Why couldn't she remember it now?

"It's already happening, then, as I feared..." Hook's mustache twists into an malicious smile.

"_What_ is already happening?" she demands.

"You're forgetting your mother and father, Wendy. You're forgetting them, and all their love."

"No! It's not possible..." But doubt plagues her; she cannot recall the smell of her mother's dress, or the sharp edges to her father's smile. "It's not possible," she repeats, this time as if to convince herself.

"Oh, Wendy, but it is. You can ask any of the Lost Boys who their parents are; at one time, they were like you, but now they're merely...lost."

She only stares at him.

"You can go home, Wendy, to all you've known. You'll be treasured and loved again; you'll get to grow up and live the life you were meant for. This is no true life, not being able to grow old. You'll regret it, living in Neverland forever. You won't understand life, not truly, because you won't be growing. You'll never experience the truth of humanity. All you need to do is ask, and all of that can be yours."

"All I need to do is ask?"

"What is your choice, Wendy?"

It is as if she is on the precipice of an immense cliff; grey seas thrashing from all sides. A big part of her wants to stay young and beautiful forever, to live out eternity with Peter in all their grandeur and youth, two perennial blossoms. But there is duty, and family, and the comfort of home. The question is life- what life does she want? What life would leave her with no regrets? Which life, if unlived, would fill her with longing and sadness?

A memory comes to her, hazy but warm- her mother holding John in her arms, a tired smile shining on her face. "One day, Wendy," she whispers, "you'll hold your own child in your arms, and it will be the most beautiful thing in the world. I was blessed with you two, and hopefully more. When you're a mother, everything changes. Your world changes."

And suddenly, the choice became clear.

"What would you have me do?" she asks Hook.

"Tell Peter you wish to return home, and I will release the both of you to go," he replies.

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

The darkness returns momentarily to his eyes, but this time there is melancholy mingled with the hate. "Because so many childhoods have been stolen, and so many lives left unlived," is is cryptic reply.

It makes her want to pity him, or even like him. Almost. Instead, she holds the ropes binding her wrists up to Hook, so that he can untie them. He offers her his hand, and together, they go to confront Peter.

* * *

The memories come at night, the relentless barrage of images assaulting her mind, her tightly shut eyes. She wants to remember, oh yes; she wants to hold these sweet moments close to her always, to cradle them in her mind's arms, to sew them into the deep pockets of her heart. But at the same time, forgetting would be just as sweet, and altogether too easy. Forgetting would mean never feeling this pain, this heartbreak, this regret. It would mean never dreaming of a land far away, where youth was eternal and love was just within reach. It would mean not wondering about the path she could have walked, the road she could have taken, and what lay on that misty and alluring course. But above all, it would mean not missing Peter.

Sometimes Wendy wonders if it was love. Maybe it was only that you never forget your first crush, maybe it was only that he took her hand and led her to places she's never even dreamed about, maybe it was only that they jumped, and with him, she flew. Sometimes, she stands on the precipice of her window, teetering precariously over the edge, wondering if she would fly or fall. She remembers soaring, free as a bird, and she misses it. She misses him. But in the still darkness, she can picture his riveting eyes, sparkling and lively, and can almost his whisper, "Wendy, come fly with me, Wendy..."

If only she could, if only...

But she's home now, the ever dutiful daughter, home to grow up and be educated and take care of her brothers and eventual husband and later, her parents. Because she's the good girl, the promising girl, the golden girl with her sunsilk curls and blue blue eyes.

But Wendy only feels like she's going through the motions. Her routine is like clockwork, her life hopelessly mundane. How can bleak reality, shrouded in the cold fog of London, ever compare with the blue lagoons of Neverland? How can she ever truly live, knowing that there was a boy who wanted her by his side always, that once, she was able to fly free, that once, she had lived in a land where time stood still and dreams were born?

And then sometimes she wonders if it was only a dream. Maybe she's finally gone mad. Maybe she's letting her dreams overtake her reality, and that is a sure path down to insanity. But she doesn't let these doubts slip out to anyone else, not even her brothers. Because she's the caring sister, the obedient daughter, the promising child. It is a burden she must bear alone, and when she cries at night, the tears slipping onto the pillow, she cries silently, wishing for something that she cannot quite put into words. Her days are for her family, smiling and polite and sociable, but her nights are for herself, quiet and ponderous and sad. She wonders, sometimes, if she will ever find a boy like Peter, who will take her hand and show her things beyond her imagination. It is not only Peter she misses, though, it's the whole concept of what-could-have-been and what-will-never-be. "Once you leave you can never come back," he had told her, heartbreak and anger and confusion in his eyes.

"I know," she had replied, her blue eyes mirroring his. "I know."

"Never come back..." she whispers to herself now, her voice a quiet sob.

"I'll grow up," she tells herself one day. "Grow up, fall in love, have children of my own. I will live, I will smile, I will be happy."

It becomes her mantra, her anchor. It tethers her to this new reality and provides answers and hope for those bleak days when she asks herself why. It is a promise, a hope, a future.

She's repeated it enough times that she finally believes it to be true.

* * *

She's grown now, far past grown. Her brothers have passed away, and her parents, and even her husband. She had cried when they died, especially for him. Now, as Wendy sits alone in her too-empty house, waiting for death, the memories come again. This time, she welcomes them with open arms. _How sweet,_ she thinks, _it is to remember. A gift._

She sees the Lost Boys, bouncing from one stepping stone to another, a song on their lips. She sees Peter and Tink arguing, and feels a petty satisfaction at Tink's jealousy. She sees Tiger Lily, stubborn and proud, gracefully kissing Peter, and feels for the first time her own sting of jealousy. The memories aren't all good ones, but she's grateful for them nonetheless. But there are the jewels among them- her kissing Peter, him leading her up up up and away to Neverland...

"I'm old now, Peter," Wendy whispers, feeling every one of her seventy-seven years. "You're right, it's no fun to be old. But I've lived a long life, and I'm happy that I got to live it. You said to live would be an awfully big adventure, and you were right again. But I want one last adventure, one last adventure together. Did you wait for me, Peter? Did you wait...?"

And as Wendy's soul slips out of her body, the shadow of a twelve year old boy slips into the room, and the hazy figures of a pair of children could be seen breezing past the clock tower, a boy in green and a girl in blue flying up up up and away to Neverland.


End file.
